Corpsiated
by Kara Winter Wolf
Summary: George is having trouble moving on from his brothers death. It's like he's waiting for some thing to happen, but its not happening. So when he gets a real chance to move on, he takes it. Will joining the Avengers help him? (sequel to Burning. If you believe burning should remain a one shot- don't read this)
1. Moveing on? Maybe

**Me: Ahh! What is that terrible voice that's talking in my head!? It hurts! Get out you ugy little thing! stop taking over my brain!**

**Fred: ...right she wouldn't know Muse yet. **

**Muse: I am not ugly! Or terrible!**

**Fred: Calm down. She's not herself**

**Muse: Well, kinda, she is. Whether I'm ugly or not has been an ongoing argument.**

**Me: I hate it! I hate the little flea!**

**Muse: Well that's actually a new one. I've never been called a flea before...**

**Fred: Whoa Kara... settle down...you have amnesia. I'm gonna fix it for you, K?**

**Me: Really...?**

**Fred: really.**

**Me: OK, but don't-**

**Muse: *hits deranged writer over the head with a crowbar***

**Fred: That should do it. Even if its a little overkill. Now *takes out wand***

**Muse/The Flea: Have you ever done this before?**

** Fred: No.**

**Muse: Cool!**

**Fred: Cranium reparo!**

* * *

George hated words. They were so complicated, and he hated trying to express himself that way, because it didn't work for him. His words got strung up and torn, so they were never a way for him. No. He hated words.

But art he could manage. It was something he understood. The talent that was born after the war was over. The one time expressing himself had become a problem was then. After the war.

The curves and the dips his pen made, they brought out angry pictures. Fred's death. The explosion. A falcon tearing at the remains of a tiny field mouse. The ocean waves, bearing down on a small fishing boat. Almost all the time they were angry. His art was normally very angry.

But then they were sad too. Sad little dips and turns. Fred's coffin. The rain on a window pane. A lonely tree in the fog.

"Hey George" It was Bill. George put down the charcoal pencil and sighed, exasperated. He had thought Bill had given up a long time ago, but apparently that wasn't it. But George wished he would.

"Bill." The words came out bitter, because unlike George, Bill was able to move on. And George hated that. He hated how his family was able to move on from Fred. Didn't they love him? Didn't they love their brother? Their son? If they did, George couldn't see it.

They just went on with their normal activity's as if nothing had happened.

"Um... there's a Quidditch game in twenty five minutes, down at the Den. Do you... do you wanna come?" His voice sounded hopeful, as if he expected George to finally crawl out of the dark abyss he had lingered so long in.

The dark abyss that he now knew as home.

"Ron is coming and so is Dad. Heck, Charlie took the weekend off just to come down and watch the game. It's kinda a guy's night out thing." George closed his eyes, and let his head fall back against the wall irritably. So that was their play. To draw him out. To surround him and force him into something he wasn't ready for. So soon after that. After... after what happened.

Bill stood uncomfortably in the silence, "George?"

"No." George answered as kindly as he could, trying not to let the bitterness, and the burning take his voice.

Bill sighed unhappily, "Dad said if you said no, he told me to tell you that you need to get over Fred. You need to move on, George. Mourning him endlessly isn't going to free you. It won't do any thing. You can't move on if you just stay in your apartment looking at Fred's old things, or sitting at his grave talking to someone who just isn't going to talk back." Bill looked at him pleadingly, "Please, just come to the game with us, it will help.

George ignored him. Bill could say nothing to change his mind. He just wanted him to forget Fred

How could they? Didn't they care for him too? Didn't they care for Fred? How could they be over him, just like that? It was wrong, and George hated it. Every time they made a move to help him move on, it burned him. He would take a Crucio before this, if he had the choice. He would take a Crucio hundreds, even _thousands _of times, if he could only bring Fred back. Or even trade places with him. Nothing would help him. Nothing _could_ help him. Excepting Angelina.

Oh, look, Bill left, tired of trying. And that was OK. They all did that. Every time. Only Angelina understood.

George went back to his picture. He wasn't sure what it was yet. At the start he almost never knew. His pencil would just move and he would be left with the finished works.

He liked the surprise in it. The way the end picture portrayed his feelings so well. His anger, his despair, depression, and sorrow. It was his channel of expressing himself. How he felt.

Sometimes though he drew portraits. Angelina, her hair like a halo against the green of the grass, her eyes free of the haunt that had come after the war.

Her eyes free.

_Free._

_You can't move on if you just stay in your apartment._

And Bill was right. He couldn't. Moving on took so much more than that.

He needed something else. He had known that for a while. He had just been confused, cause it wouldn't happen.

So maybe he could make it happen...

Maybe this was it. Maybe this was his chance to move on.

George knew he had to do.

His pencil made one final stoke before he finished, but George knew what the image was before he looked down.

It was a Phoenix, flying through the night sky.

Free

* * *

**Me: What the heck...? Why does my head hurt? Muse? Did you take over again?**

**Muse: Why does she always assume its my fault?!**

**Fred: Cause it usually is.**

**Me: What happened?**

**Fred: We gave you amnesia, but I fixed you**

**Me: Muse! you gave me amnesia?!**

**Muse: No! Fred did!**

**Me: You lying little flea! *chases Muse out of the room**

**Fred: huh. Thats odd. I don't think she just remembered that. I guess that proves that Muse is a bloody flea.  
**

**Molly: Fred! Language!**

**Fred: I'm not Fred! I'm George!**


	2. One Eye

**Me: Yay! We won second place in our basketball tournament yesterday!**

**Muse: Why didn't you win first?**

**Me: Well... I blame the refs...**

**Muse: You always blame the refs!**

**Me: Maybe they're always to blame! Besides, who else am I s'posed to blame?**

**Muse: Oh well... Silver is prettier than gold anyway... **

**Me: ...Muse? ...could you say the disclaimer?**

**Muse: No! Never!**

**Me: Fred!**

**Fred: *sighs* and *mumbles* she doesn't own anything...**

* * *

Two years later.

The dreams came constantly. Dreams of Angelina holding his hand as they sat next to Fred's grave, twirling flowers around with her fingers, and trying to master the muggle art of flower necklaces.

Or Ron on his Wedding day, and how pale he looked when he suddenly realized what he was getting into.

And Hogwarts in the winter. The snowball fights on the ground. Trips to hogs mead, the cold wind on his face as the door of three broomsticks opened to admit a new customer. The warm, floating feeling the butterbeer generated as it washed down his throat.

Then Fred. His death. The loneliness and isolation. The burns, and scars that would paint Georges' emotional life until death took over. _You could have saved him._ Mum. _Fred was always better than you._ Dad. _You'll never take Fred's place._ Angelina. _I wish you had died instead of Fred. _Himself. His dream people were horrible to him. But George had always known they were right.

It was usually Fred dreams. Just him. Fred coming through the door saying it was all a big joke gone wrong. Or that it never happened in the first place. That Remus and Tonks were still alive, and so was Sirius. That Fred was alive. Then George would reach forward to touch him, to _feel _him. Just so he could know that it was all true that his brother was truly living.

Then it would all dissipate, and he would be left with nothing. Again.

He didn't remember everything from that moment two years ago, when he made the choice. All he could recall was the final stroke of the phoenix, the plane, arriving in Maine, America, Finding an apartment on the third floor of the first building on 4th Street. He thought he could get away from them. But they inevitably came, in his sleep, his dreams. He could never get away from the memories.

But he still hoped. Maybe he could still move on. Maybe he just needed the right-

Someone knocked sharply at the door.

-push.

George stood up and placed a notepad with a half finished drawing in his back pocket, and pulled out his wand with the same movement. A voice rang through his head at this. _Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know._ George sighed to himself. _Shut up Mad Eye._

"Who's there?" He called out guardedly.

"A friend." Rang an unfamiliar voice.

"I don't have any friends in America."

"This is the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. We are your friends." The door opened and a tall black man with an eye patch stepped halfway in.

"I never said you could come inside."

"You didn't have to," was the automatic reply.

George snorted and stood up from his defensive crouch, then made his way over to the small kitchen fridge,keeping his wand pointed at the intruder, "Soda Pop?"

"I'm not here for that."

"You really need to work on your name. You know, the Strategic something something something."

"We have heard that more than once."

_Bet you have._ "What are you here for then, One eye? Selling Girl Scout cookies?"

The name or question didn't seem to faze the man. "I'm here to talk to you about something."

George turned away and stuffed his hands in his pockets, "Really? People these days only talk to me about one thing. The one thing I hate talking about. If they sent you here-" he was quickly interrupted.

"I not here about that." The man started to reminded him of Dumbledore, the way his eyes seemed to tear him apart, piece by piece.

"Then what _are _you here for?" George raised his wand higher pointing it at the mans face.

"I'm here to discuss an idea. An idea I'm hoping you'll agree to." He walked further into the room and faced the window, as if looking at the view.

George sighed, exasperated, "Sorry, but I'm not looking into a religion. Not now, not ever. Now go away."

"I'm not here for anything you've ever heard about." The man looked at him seriously.

"Then I wouldn't care about it." George tried to shoo him to the door, but the man glared him away. "Look, go away before I have to bat boogie you, muggle." George raised his wand ready to fire the curse, the one that, surprisingly, Ginny had shown him how to cast. The man just gazed at him calmly.

"Don't. Move." A new voice called out from the door way. A young red headed muggle women walked forward, holding a very effective looking muggle weapon.

"O...K..." George slowly lowered his wand. "Don't these Muggles have metal detectors or something at the front entrance?"

"I'm a very special...muggle." She tried the new word out before smiling at him patronizingly.

"It's called the Avengers Initiative." One Eye spoke up again. "We were wondering if you, as a wizard-"

"You know about Wizards?"

"Yes" He said calmly

"But...Are _you_ a wizard?"

"No. I-"

"Are you aware of the Statute of secrecy?"

One Eye hesitated, "Yes." And that was what did it.

George pulled up his wand quickly and pointed it at One Eyes' head, and Redhead squeezed her trigger.

Blam! A small dart hit his chest with enough power to shove him back a few steps, George felt two more hit his arm. "Oblivliate!" Missed. "Oblivia.. Obliv..." The words wouldn't come! Why weren't the words coming?! His vision faded in and out and he put out a hand to steady himself.

The man and the woman swirled around in a tunnel, and all George heard from them was the fuzzy words, "That's enough Romanov."

Slowly George looked down at his chest, and plucked at one of the thirteen darts that protruded there. Ouch...

His vision went dark and he collapsed onto the floor.

* * *

**Me: That was... dramatic.**

**Muse: Well, duh! People like dramatic!**

**Me: No they don't**

**Muse: Yeah they do!**

**Me: No they don't!**

**Fred: Yeah they do!**

**Me: Fred! No!**

**Fred: Well... I like dramatics...**

**Muse: But you're not a person.**

**Me: Muse, shut up**

**Muse: You are a fantastical book character.**

**Me: Muse...don't.**

**Muse: You don't really exist**

**Fred: ...Neither do you.**

**Me: Ohhhh! Burn!**


	3. Captured But still free?

**Me: Gah...Star testing today but it was literature, so it was easy.**

**Muse: probably cause I gave you all the answers.**

**Hermione: But...but that's cheating!**

**Fred: Good Job!**

**Hermione: Fred! It's against the rules!**

**Fred/Me/Muse: So?**

**Hermione: but... but...but... Mrs. McGonagal!**

**Mrs. McGonagal: Yes...?**

**Hermione: Muse and Kara Wolf were cheating!**

**McGonagal: ...Is this true? *glares at rule-breakers***

**Fred: Run!**

* * *

Clint hated his job. Not what he did exactly, but what he was told to do. It bored him. Mostly he's told to go on dangerous missions, capture evil bad guys and run around the city shooting arrows like Robin Hood. Those times were ok. And then, suddenly, he has to stand guard in a hospital room over an unconscious Brit (his name was George Weasely) in the S.H.E.I.L.D. helicarrier, and watch him till he woke up. Meanwhile, Natasha got to go and stop mayhem elsewhere.

Not that he was jealous or anything. He was never jealous. It didn't work for him to be jealous. He was just... dissatisfied. And bored. It looked like Natasha had hit the poor guy with as many darts as she could fit in her pockets.

_As if he would wake up any time soon._ Clint thought sarcastically.

The British man groaned and opened his eyes, "Wha? ...Wh're 'm I?"

_O...K. Jinxes are real. Genius. _Several nurse's ran into the room and surrounded the bed.

"Get away you bloody idiots!" _Oh, the fine line between __English__ and __American__. _"What are you doing?!_" _The man struck out at one of the nurses and she backed away fearfully.

The man scrambled out of the bed and backed into the corner of the room. His hands felt frantically for something in his jeans.

"Hey, calm down Brit. We aren't here to hurt you." Clint spoke up calmly and and rose from his crouch on the counter. He didn't like chairs.

"Where is it!?" The man almost yelled angrily, and several of the nurses backed away, "Where's my-?"

"Any weapon you had was taken away by shield members as to minimize the harm you could generate." Clint interrupted coolly, "Even the stick."

A nurse finally spoke up, trembling, "Please sir, you need to lie back down, Your blood pressure-"

"I don't care about my bloody blood pressure!" The man yelled into the frightened woman's face.

"Calm down." Clint said a little forcefully. "And we might give you back your stick" He lied.

"Stick...?" The man looked confused for a second before he must have realized what Clint meant. "Bloody muggles." He spat. His eyes widened, "You people know about the community!" The Brit yelled and swiftly searching the room with his gaze he swiped a syringe from where one of the nurses dropped it, and ran toward Clint.

He brought the knife down at Clint who, almost rolling his eyes at this point, gracefully dodged and strung an arrow, preparing to shoot, before a voice stopped him.

"Don't." Someone called from the door.

Clint hesitantly stood down, "Captain," he acknowledged.

Captain America stepped calmly into the room while the guards that had been posted down the hall, two strong and armed to the bone men, burst in behind him, and leaped forward to restrain the crazed man, who muttered something about luck, then finally subsided.

"You're Weasley?" The Captain asked

Something flitted over the Brits face, panic, then a glazed over expression of calm, "No." But Barton could see the lie in his eyes

The captain motioned Clint over to him, and Barton complied. "Fury wants you in the ground base. I'll take over here"

Clint nodded and left the room

* * *

George had bad luck. He probably had the worst luck anyone could get, 'cause this was _really_ bad luck. Kidnapped by muggles. What wizard could say that had happened to them?

No one could. Because it just didn't happen. Ever. Except to him.

"I... er... found this." The muggle man that Robin Hood had called 'Captain' held up a notepad. George's notepad. He had looked though his drawings! All his feelings and pain. His entire world was in there!

George snatched the pad from the man. "You looked at my drawings?!" He quickly sifted though the pad to make sure nothing had been upset. Seeing everything OK, he turned his anger towards the man. "You don't know what's in here! This is my life not -"

"Yes, I know. But before you get angry and probably damage me permanently, I want you to look at something" The man pulled out his own pad, almost reluctantly, "Look nearer to the back."

George took the book hesitantly and flipped to the end pages. An empty park bench. A man standing alone on a dance floor. A raven perched on a grave stone. And George saw each picture as it really was. Loneliness. Pain. Death. It was all so familiar. All so familiar because that was what was in his pictures. A tear falling from someones face. A fire eating and destroying a heart. Loss. Anger. Fear.

"You've felt it too." George stated in wonder. He knew his burning. He felt it daily...just like George. George looked up at the captain and tried to think exactly how hard it was for him to watch someone sift through his feelings "You've felt..." The page turned and he stopped. This picture was different.

He pulled out his own pad and put the drawings side by side. One, his, a Phoenix soaring, free, through the night sky as if it had no boundaries. The other, an eagle.

Both the signifying hope for the freedom that the two of them, George, and the captain, strove for.

* * *

**Me: Did we...*breaths really hard* Did we lose her?**

**Muse: Probably not.**

**Draco: Oh, The mud bloods and blood traitors running away from some one?**

**Fred: Shove off Malfoy**

**Muse: Yeah. Your not in the script.**

**Me: He's not?**

**Muse: Nope.  
**

**Draco: Like I'd want to be in your stupid bloody script.**

**Me: *gets really angry*... Avada Kadavra!**

**Malfoy: *ducks* Ha! missed!**

**Me: *throws crowbar***

**Draco: *Bam!* Uuuhhhggg...**

**Fred: Yeah. He'll probably get amnesia. Isn't the crow bar thing getting old yet?**

**Me: Oh. *waves him off* It still has its perks.**


	4. I'm in

**Me: Yay! Only one more day of star testing! Then I'm freeeee!**

**Muse: Yeah well, you mostly guessed on the science. And tomorrow you have history too.**

**Me: So?**

**Muse: you are horrible at history. You thought the first president was Paul McCartney**

**Me: Well wasn't he?**

**Muse: ...He was a Beatles member... In the 60's... **

**Me: ...Wasn't that Timothy Leary?**

**Muse: *Face palms*Timothy Leary was a PSYCHOLOGIST**

* * *

_'They're called the Avengers._"

Avenge what? How was that supposed to be a good name? The avengers.

One would assume that they were to avenge something, and to avenge isn't to block out evil, it is to know that evil has won, but you want to throw yourself at them as to make them sorry for what they did.

Sorry. That was it. The avengers weren't there to save the world. They were there to waste the worlds last defense. How could that turn out for good?

_Maybe because the world doesn't need a last defense... Maybe it's already lost. _Was that true? Was that all it was? Because there always was that last hope for freedom. No matter how small it was. But how could you make a little league of superhero's just so you can tell them, and the whole world really, that there really wasn't any hope to be saved, that their only hope was in vengeance?

But maybe... Maybe that was OK. Maybe this was what George needed. Maybe that was what the world would need. Vengeance. Would vengeance set him free? Free from the burning? Free from the pain...

George looked up at the one eyed man. "I'm in," were his only words.

"We thought you might be."

* * *

"So... What are your powers, exactly?" Tony asked the Brit.

"Who said I have powers?" George answered the multi-billionair.

"Your going to be in their little boy band aren't you? You either have powers or I'm a cockroach." He turned around in his swivel chair and opened up a few files from his computer.

"Your a cock roach then. "

Stark ignored him, "Shield seems pretty interested in you..." A few 3D images popped up, "And your...clan. Thing." He said appraisingly. Stark spread the the images around the the roam and took interest in one particular one, "Not a roach" He exclaimed triumphantly and opened it up.

A voice rang through the room, "Sir, Director Fury is at the door with several shield agents. Should I allow him entrance?

"No." Stark called out. He quickly scrambled to download all the files onto his own computer.

BOOM! A massive explosion shook Stark's room and the multibilloinair and George were sent flying after the shock wave blew past them

Stark got up slowly and shook his head, "Wonder what that was..." he muttered innocently.

"Stark!" A sharp commanding voice, Fury's voice, spoke from the now shattered glass doors

"I thought I told you not to let him in Jarvis." Tony repremanded

"I'm sorry sir. The director decimated our front entrance."

"Mr. Stark." He glared at Tony with malice, " I thought you had clear instructions not to hack into our computers," his voice was cold and seemed to be set on the edge of anger.

Stark ignored him and smiled at one of the Shield members behind him, "Agent!" He greeted in a false pleased tone, "What are you doing here?"

"The same as Fury." The man replied coldly, "You had instructions." He he reminded Stark

Tony paused for a moment and a confused look took his face,"Jarvis? Search the voice on the camera's for any instructions given by Fury about hacking."

"Yes sir." Everyone waited for a moment on his answer, "Sir there are exactly three matches on your search."

"Play them please."

An old voice recording swept through the room, "We will receive warnings if you hack our base, Stark. Don't try it." another, "Hacking our computers is not permitted, Stark." And one more, "Our base isn't set up like the pentagon Stark. Hacking it wont be so easy. But if you do, I will make you a cyber terrorist."

Stark thought for a moment, "huh... I must not have listened hard enough."

"You rarely do." Some one called from the now non existing door.

"Pepper!" Tony grinned, "Hey! I got you blueberries this time! Did you see them?"

"You mean the ones on the counter?"

"Yes..."

"The ones that got blown up?"

"...yeah..." he frowned and looked at Fury, "You blew up my blueberries!"

"I thought they were my blue berries." Pepper spoke quietly to Stark, then looking away she turned to George, "You must be Mr. Weasley," She said, "Who of course I know nothing about," She reassured the director unconvincingly.

"Yes, but you can call me George," He answered kindly

"Can _I_ call you George?" Tony asked

"No." The man answered

"Mr. Stark. You need to focus on the matter at hand." Fury spoke up coldly

"What matter?" Tony asked just as another agent walked into the room. The woman walked up to Fury, and muttered something in his ear. Fury nodded and his eyes hardened.

"Stark, I would request that you get your computer off of mine before I take some severe measures. I have somewhere else to be."

"You mean Mexico?" He asked cheekily, "And I have no idea what your talking about. I would _never _hack your base."

"Sir, the download is complete. Would you like me to-"

"Mute." Tony commanded, "And yes. Save it and guard it with your life."

Fury snapped "Stark-" the woman agent walked back in the door

"Director, they insist you come now."

Fury nodded, "Stark, get off my base. Coulsen come with me." Fury turned and walked out through the shattered glass door.

"That was... mildly interesting" George commented.

"Yes, It was." Pepper smiled, "Security breach is on you Tony. Oh and..." She leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear, "I don't like blueberries."

* * *

**Fred: That wasn't like the other ones... not as gloomy and depressing**

**Muse: Isn't that a good thing?**

**Me: Besides, all except the top part is Tony. George can't do funny stuff any more.**

**Fred: ...He gave Ron and Hermione an exploding cake**

**Me: So? He's doing it for you. So it's still sad.**

**Fred: And why didn't you put any thinking parts in for Tony?**

**Muse: ...Cause Tony doesn't think. He does.**

**Tony: Hey! That's offensive! I built an arch reactor in a cave. A CAVE. With a bunch of junk!  
**

**Fred: I built extendable ears. With gloomy George.**

**Tony: That's... that's rough. *looks impressed***

**Me: Well I made a science project! With...with... sciencey stuff**

**Muse: Don't ask her what she made**

**Fred: Why not? What did she make?**

**Me: *takes deep breath***

**Muse: *Groans***

**Me: A... VOLCANO!**

**Fred: Oh...that's...**

**Tony: ...original...**


End file.
